The Black Paw
by Soalric
Summary: A dark chapter of the Pound Puppies' history is unearthed when an old splinter group reappears on the global scene. In this high-stakes adventure, involving intrigue and betrayal, the very state of humanity as a free species is in jeopardy.
1. Trouble in Oman

_"Humans don't love dogs, they love what dogs _do_ for them."_

_ ~Sterling von Oxnard_

_ "And goof on humans, but that's just a perk."_

_ ~Lucky, when asked about the mission of the Pound Puppies_

_"Foolish humans! So easily manipulated!"_

_ ~Strudel_

* * *

"Ready for jump!"

The transport plane rocked with turbulence, but the twenty men in the squadron still got to their feet. They already donned their oxygen masks and parachutes, and had clipped their weapons and supplies onto their packs. Flares were tied to each man's right foot. As they prepared for their mission, the words of their commanding officer, Major Kline, resonated in their memories:

_"Now, I realize that you have never had experience in this kind of operation. And honestly, a situation like the one you now face has not yet been seen by mankind."_

The plane's ramp opened, and the city stretched out below, glittering in the night.

"_However, I have faith in you, and so do your president and your country. But remember this: more than your country needs you right now. Your species needs you."_

The squadron of elite forces waited. Their entire lives, entire agency had been both waiting for this moment and praying for it to never come.

_"Godsend, gentlemen. And remember the stakes of failure."_ And with that, Kline had saluted them.

A tone sounded.

The twenty men jogged, and leapt into the open air.

As they plummeted out of the plane, they ignited their flares, each one a pinpoint of green light. As these twenty green dots fell through the sky, the men looked at one another, each one spread-eagled as they had been trained. The air whipped through their ears, creating a deafening flapping as they fell. Only the sounds of their breathing in their oxygen masks could be heard over the tumultuous riot. Through their goggles, they could see just the faintest trace of worry on each other's faces. But it was too late now to turn back, so they directed their eyes downward again as the wind lashed their faces.

Shelter 17 lay below.

* * *

**ONE MONTH EARLIER**

* * *

_For the sake of the English-speaking audience, the dialogue in the following section has been translated from Omani Arabic._

Najib Kassab burst into his bedroom. His eyes quickly scanned the room, and he caught sight of himself in the mirror, a haggard sultan with a panicked look on his face. He needed a place to hide.

A voice floated in from the city intercom system.

"Today our voices rise up, as one strong and mighty people!"

Loud shouting voices from outside his door.

Kassab threw himself to the ground and shuffled under his bed, praying that he wouldn't be found. The door flew open, and five men stormed into the room. He didn't dare to breathe as they shouted to each other; not seeing the sultan, they began ransacking the room. The closet was torn apart, clothes strewn everywhere, the dresser had its drawers yanked out.

Then someone peeked under the bed. Their eyes met Kassab's for just a split second. It seemed to drag on for an eternity, as Kassab's stomach freefell through the floor

"He's under the bed!"

The sultan tried to scramble away in desperation. Before he could move more than two feet, the group of men had taken the bed and overturned it. He yelled something he couldn't remember, flailing as they grabbed him.

Then a rifle swung down, and all was dark and silent.

No, now it was light again. Now he felt his knees scraping against the ground, and two hands, one on either side, grasping him under the arms and dragging him forward. He heard chants:

"Mustafa! Mustafa! Mustafa!"

Sure enough, Abdel Mustafa's voice cried out again. It rang throughout the city of Muscat:

"Today, we shall declare our freedom from the tyranny of the sultanate, once and for all!"

Very dimly, Kassab could perceive a truck in front of him. He was being hauled towards it past a row of soldiers, each one with a German shepherd at his side. How silly, the sultan thought; it is peculiar how, in the face of despair, one may still find humor in the most unusual places. And right now, Kassab mused to himself that it was almost like the dogs were standing at attention too. Then haze again.

Now his knees stopped hitting the ground as he was lifted up. His arms, tired and sore, went behind his back and were tied to a metal post, which had been installed in the truck special for the occasion. The bonds were tight and restricting, and Kassab leaned forward against them. His head and chest drooped, but his body stayed upright. As he flitted in and out of consciousness, words and images floated around him. It was like a tide: sometimes they rushed into his mind, clear as day and swirling tumultuously. Other times, they receded from perception, only barely there.

"The sultan promised to bring liberty and prosperity to our nation. But like the others before him, he has sold us out to America, to Europe, to the West, as a doormat!"

The truck lurched forward, the tires crackling against the asphalt. The sounds of civil war blossomed from different directions, mingling and mating with Mustafa's speech.

"This betrayal and corruption have kept us enslaved too long. Now we cry out, no more! Now is the time, my brothers and sisters, to show our true strength, to prove we are not afraid. No longer will the enemy underestimate us!"

The sultan managed to open his groggy eyes, and witnessed a terrible sight: that of a modern society gripped in turmoil. To watch war in the feudal times is not so disconcerting, it is the stuff of legends and entertaining tales. To see war in the industrial age is similarly comfortable. Pictures of Germany in ruins have made their rounds enough to remove their shock value.

It is quite a different sight to see the town you live in, the time you live in, torn by war. And now the sultan saw exactly that.

He tilted his head to see a transport of soldiers stop, and all the men jump out. The truck turned to avoid the squad as the men hit the ground and began storming nearby houses and stores.

Each man was equipped with a dog, it seemed.

"The sultan may have turned his back on us. Now we grab him, look him in the eye and cry, 'You fool, you have insulted us for the last time!'"

Here was a marketplace. Kassab had been here once, when there had been shopping and joy. Now seven people were lined against the wall, their hands on their heads, being searched by an armed man. Another dog followed by his side.

And now, driving further, here were a group of civilians, heads bowed, trying to escape. They pressed against the wall and each other, trying to remain as incognito as possible.

"Our cause will be admired for centuries to come, and soon a great nation will be created, and its glory will shine brighter than all others before it."

The truck turned into an alleyway, trying to bypass the major streets. Kassab could just barely make out, down the main road, a firefight between soldiers and plainly dressed militia. The dogs were leaping upon the militiamen-

"And soon, we will show the way for all of our peoples, in a great movement to secure our future for all time to come! A new era will dawn, the likes of which mankind has not seen before!"

There was a wall, with ten people, men, women, and children lined up against it. They held their hands up as a sign of surrender. A row of gunmen faced them, and fired-

Kassab blacked out again. When he awoke, these words filled his ears:

"Oman over all! Oman over all! Oman over all!"

They were distant at first, but grew more distinct. And now the visuals came back. The sultan gathered enough strength to look up.

The truck had stopped before the Al Alam Palace.

Now looking around him, he saw a huge crowd pressing against the truck. They chanted the words, pumped their fists in the air, not a friendly face among them. They were no longer a group of human beings; they were a single mob, terrible in its supposed justice.

"The people have made their charges," Kassab twisted around and saw Mustafa on a platform in the middle of the crowd, speaking into a microphone. Beside him was another dog, watching the proceedings with a cool and collected air, "and the people have issued their verdict!"

The sultan felt hands untie him, then seize him by the hair and bring him to the brink of the truck's bed. Below him were the faces, the hands, the jeers. A mob in full-fledged fury is more terrible than a pack of wolves, more bloodthirsty than a feeding frenzy of sharks.

"Now," Mustafa pronounced, but he hesitated. Every eye was turned upon the sultan. Therefore, it was only Kassab, eyes wide with being pulled open by the hand in the hair, who saw Mustafa glance down at the dog. He was also the only one who saw the dog look back up at the human, again maintaining its sincere mannerism.

The dog nodded.

Mustafa drew a breath and finished, "Now…let the people administer the sentence."

Kassab was released, and fell to the ground.

The plummet broke his nose, and left him prostrate on the road. The blood trickled from his nostril, a line of red to his mouth. Shuddering, he brought his hands under him, and pushed himself up a bit. Looking at the people around him, they drew closer, more menacing than ever.

One man stood out from the crowd, and came towards the sultan with an iron pipe. He held it like a baseball bat, readied it, and swung down towards Kassab's eyes.

The sultan did not know anything after that.


	2. History 101

The message light on the Dog-Com 250 blinked on. Then off. Then on. Then off.

Nobody noticed it. The shelter was gearing up to pull off another operation.

"Alright, everyone in positions!" Lucky barked at everyone. "Where are Ben and Mack?"

"Right here!" the duo answered in unison. They were a pair of cocker spaniel brothers: Ben black and white, Mack brown and white. "Are our perfect people almost here?!"

"Almost," Lucky reassured them, "Stacy and his sister Jennie will be here any moment to take you home."

"Hooray!"

It was at this moment that Lucky finally caught a glimpse of the Dog-Com and its impatient notification light.

"Cookie!" Lucky called, "Get these two situated topside, I'll get the message, it might be important."

"Sure thing," the boxer came over to the two puppies, "Well, you heard him, topside! Double time!"

A minute later, everything was in place. Every dog in the pound huddled in their respective kennel, watching and waiting. The two puppies set to be adopted were with Cookie in the main pen, also hiding.

"Wait for it…" she muttered to herself, "Wait for it…we need perfect presentation."

After another minute which seemed like eternity, a red minivan pulled into the parking lot. A woman opened the driver's door to find her two children already out of the vehicle and ready to go.

"We're gonna get a puppy! We're gonna get a puppy!"

"Hi there!" Olaf called. He had been busy sweeping, "I guess you're looking for a puppy?"

The mother stepped forward as Stacy and Jennie continued to prance around each other with joy, "Yes, we got a call that you had two puppies you were trying to adopt out? And that you thought they would be perfect for us?"

"Good work Strudel," Cookie whispered to the dachshund sitting behind her.

"It's funny though," the mom wondered aloud, "how did you even know we were looking for a puppy?"

Every dog held their breath.

"I dunno," Olaf shrugged, "But it seems that everything knows everything nowadays. You know, Internet."

A collective sigh of relief escaped from the kennels.

"Hm, I guess you're right. Stacy! Jennie!" the two kids stopped dancing, "Go see if you can find the two puppies."

"That's your cue!" Cookie whispered to the duo, "Good luck guys, have fun. And remember," two squirrels came up with the famous tags, "Once a Pound Puppy, always a Pound Puppy. Now go!"

The two cocker spaniels, having received their tags, ran out into the play yard. The children saw them, and gasped with delight.

"They're perfect!"

"We'll take them."

And the rest was history.

As Ben and Mack were driven to their forever homes, every dog had that wonderful feeling of having witnessed something grand. The satisfaction of a mission done well, coupled with the sight of the love between a human and a puppy, created almost a honeymoon effect, like nothing could ruin the moment.

"Guys!"

Lucky's voice snapped everyone to alert. His hiss was soft and urgent. Anyone who caught his face at that moment would recall an expression of alarm.

"Emergency meeting, everyone! Now!"

* * *

When every dog in the pound was assembled underground, Lucky paced back and forth in front of them. His mind seemed to be working itself into a fury, his eyes downcast.

"What's the matter?" Niblet asked for everyone.

Lucky ignored the question at first, "Is everyone here?" he did a headcount, then re-did it.

"Yeah, I think everyone's here," Squirt looked around, concerned, "Why, is something wrong?"

"Has anyone noticed any suspicious activity lately?"

The question came as a shock. Suspicious activity? Everyone looked left to right, and slowly shook their heads.

"Has anyone made any long distance calls?"

Silence for a moment.

"Well…" Strudel began to speak up

"Where did you call?!" Lucky snapped in desperation.

"Gyah!" Strudel flinched away, "I just called a cousin back in Germany! I do it every week, Lucky, you know that."

"Right, right, sorry…" he went back to pacing.

"What's going on?!" Niblet was growing more and more worried by the second.

"Yeah, what's gotten into you?" Squirt added.

"Squirrels!" Lucky's eyes suddenly darted up, "Have you seen or heard anything, _anything_ out of the ordinary?"

They all looked at each other, and shrugged.

"Lucky!" Cookie's voice finally caught his attention, "What is the matter?"

"I'm just doing a quick check…" he explained. He finally sat down, and sighed, his ears drooping. "I've gotten some bad news from HQ. That message, they sent it out to all the shelters. It seems…" Lucky choked up, unable, or perhaps just unwilling to finish his sentence, "It seems that…the Black Paw is back in force."

There was a gasp from a few of the dogs present. Everyone's jaw dropped – except for Rebound's, Cupcake's, or Patches', the three resident puppies of the shelter.

"They're…they're back?" Strudel stammered, "How? I thought their last members died out in South America decades ago!"

"HQ thinks," Lucky continued, quieting everyone in the room, "that a few rogues reorganized it. Apparently, they overthrew Oman-"

"They took over a country?!" All the dogs began muttering nervously to each other.

"Yes, yes. Some of our guys managed to flee Oman, and they said they saw the symbol."

"But how?!" Squirt was alarmed, "They couldn't have just done it overnight!"

"I know, they moved quickly." Lucky kept scanning everyone in the room, "HQ thinks that they may have agents all over the world already."

"Even here?" Niblet whispered.

"Yes, even here. HQ said to double-check everyone on the rolls, and to keep an eye out for those who might be working for the Black Paw. So, again, has anyone seen anything at all?"

Only silence.

"Alright," Lucky was beginning to calm down, "Okay, I think we're good here. We just need to step up our security. No more taking in grown-up strays, that's crucial! Other than that, just keep eyes and ears open on missi – oh, what is it?" Patches had kept pawing at his leg, and Lucky's attention finally diverted itself.

"Mr. Lucky, sir?" Patches felt embarrassed interrupting like this, but his curiosity simply had to be satisfied, "What's the Black Paw?"

* * *

What was a simple question had, within ten minutes, turned itself into a history lecture. Strudel of course was speaking, with the entire pound in attendance. The three puppies looked up at the screen as pictures were projected onto it. "To understand the Black Paw, we have to go back hundreds of years in dog history."

The first slide showed a drawing of a group of people outside a run-down hovel.

"We begin in the Middle Ages! Darkness! Ignorance! Fear! Horrible sanitation! All of these plagued humanity in these terrible times."

"Looks pretty crummy," Cupcake remarked.

"Yes, yes it does. It was at this time that a group of dogs and cats decided to band together and form the Golden Pet Society, the precursor to the Pound Puppies." Now there was a picture of five cats and seven dogs, sitting together. They appeared regal and majestic, and a phrase in a foreign language was written underneath. "The goal of this noble group: to help lead humanity to a brighter future, one person at a time."

"How did they do that?"

"Well, as you know, humans have always trailed behind our technology," now there was a picture of dogs working in a laboratory, "And back then, they lacked ideas such as rationality and investigation, clinging to tradition and worn-out ideas. So, dogs and cats volunteered themselves to the society on the basis of their knowledge. Perhaps they had discovered a scientific breakthrough, or had a certain theory about how human society worked. Each cat or dog would then be paired with the one person that was most likely to pick up on that idea, and voila!" This concept was illustrated slide by slide: a cat had a light bulb go off over its head with a _ding_, then a man appeared next to the cat, then the man had the same light bulb appear over his head, with the same _ding_.

"So, it was just like finding perfect people?" Rebound was beginning to understand…she thought…

"Precisely! All it took was perhaps a bathtub filled up too full, and the humans had 'discovered' what we wanted them to. Of course, some people took more…effort. Harry Houndsen had to climb all the way up a tree at Cambridge University and conk some poor guy on a head with an apple to get humans to understand why things fall down!" And there was a picture of a guy with funny looking hair, rubbing his head and peering at an apple by his side. A brown dog was teetering precariously in the branches above.

"But…" Patches' question was still not being answered, "Where does the Black Paw come in?"

"I'm getting there!" Strudel did not like being interrupted, "Anyways, this went on for some centuries. People made progress, bit by bit, thanks to the Golden Pet Society. Scientific pursuits reached new heights, and democracy finally took root in the 1700s. However, the humans kept…" this was always an awkward portion of the lesson, especially when pups were present, "…they kept messing things up. They kept coming up with things like slavery, imperialism, racism," and corresponding pictures and photographs were shown, "It almost seemed like they were resisting progress!"

"But why?"

"I don't know," Strudel shook her head, "but the Society kept trying to turn things around. Finally, in 1915, after the outbreak of the First World War," a photograph of a trench filled with squalid soldiers, "some pets decided to give up."

"Give up?"

"On humanity." Strudel grew solemn now, "Some members began to believe that people were never going to advance. It was one cat, actually, who sparked the movement. He and his followers withdrew from the Society and formed their own organization, the Red Whisker Order. They pulled some strings behind the scenes, and ultimately created…"

The slide changed.

There was a black and white photograph. In it, a man was sitting cross-legged and leaning his elbow on a table. He appeared to be talking to someone off-frame, to the left. The man was bald, with a mustache and short beard. In his arms, he caressed a light-haired cat, which seemed to glare at the camera.

"Who's that?"

"That, is Vladimir Lenin," Strudel answered, "a puppet of the Red Whisker Order. Every leader of the Soviet Union answered to the cats. That's why cats now have a stigma of being evil. They were the first to split."

"The first?"

"Do you have nothing but two-word questions?!" Strudel snapped, "Yes, the cats were first! But as time went on, a few dogs also began to get the same idea. In the 1920s, a group of dogs also separated from the Society, and formed the Black Paw."

"So that's where it came from!" Patches was relieved they were finally getting to relevant information.

"The Black Paw was responsible for setting up numerous tyrannical regimes, again using humans as puppet rulers. Probably the most notorious of the group's leaders was a German shepherd, Blondi, a canine supremacist who viewed dogs as the rightful rulers of the planet."

The screen showed a German shepherd, who was accompanied by a short man, with a suit, peaked cap, and a toothbrush mustache.

"As the 1930s progressed, conflict grew within the Golden Pet Society. Dogs accused the cats of being agents of the Red Whisker Order; cats blamed dogs of being hidden members of the Black Paw. Eventually, the two species split, forming the Kennel Kittens and Pound Puppies we know today." The screen kept changing to relevant images as the historical narrative unfolded.

"By the end of the decade, the Black Paw had orchestrated a war against the remaining free human countries. Nation after nation fell to Germany, Italy, and Japan! The Kennel Kittens and Pound Puppies were unable to coordinate themselves at first, and for a while, all seemed lost. But Blondi decided to try and destroy the Red Whisker Order in 1941; she viewed them as a threat to dog rule. In the midst of the ensuing battle, the Pound Puppies and Kennel Kittens agreed to work together, and with the state of emergency that was arising, also agreed that direct contact with the humans was necessary."

"They talked to humans?" All three pups asked, their eyes incredulous.

"Yes, it was a dire time, which called for extreme measures. After we explained what was happening, and after the people stopped freaking out over us talking, the human governments decided to pool their resources with ours. We kept people's hopes up in Britain, helped survey the land for D-Day, and even lent our genius minds to the construction of the atom bomb! It was an incredible time for cats, dogs, and humans alike, a joint effort not seen before or since."

"Wow…" for once, the puppies were speechless.

"The Black Paw eventually collapsed as the war drew to a close, and their puppets were captured, or worse," Strudel was grateful there was no pictures to accompany the graphic deaths of the dictators, "The dogs themselves were arrested and imprisoned by the Grand Pound Puppy Tribunal – except for Blondi, who was poisoned and killed by her human. Decades later, the Red Whisker Order also crumbled, disbanding along with the Soviet Union in 1991."

"And since then," Lucky stepped in to conclude, "There's been no trouble. Until now." The lights came on as the show finished.

"So, these Black Paw guys…" Patches clarified, "They want to take over the humans?"

"And apparently," Lucky nodded, "They refuse to die out until they do."


	3. Agent Maubian

When he was five years old, like most kids, Steve Maubian loved to pretend he was a cop, and catch the bad guys. Unlike most kids, it was not simply a stage he outgrew. For him, the idea of the public's safety blossomed into an ideal, grand and beautiful, one he wanted to dedicate his life to. And so, Steve did exactly that.

Growing up, Steve steered clear of anyone who could tarnish his record. He swore off every substance, even alcohol, a vow he continued into adulthood. In high school, he joined the junior officer training program, designed for young minds who shared his passion. Imagine the overflowing joy he experienced when he opened his letter, and read the acceptance that it proclaimed! After two years, Steve continued on to Penn State University, where, after a hellish amount of coursework and studying, he successfully completed his master's degree in homeland security. From there, landing a job in the Central Intelligence Agency proved a cakewalk, and he assumed the title of Agent Maubian.

His career, for the most part, proceeded at a steady, quiet pace. Agent Maubian split his time sitting behind a desk, completing papers that were essential to national security (that's what he was told, at least; he had no idea how), and running low-level field assignments, picking up intel from or dropping off supplies for liaisons.

When Agent Maubian ran assignments, he slipped into the area quietly, and departed even more so. Often, he would return from a mission before his superiors had even realized he had left to do it. In addition, the liaisons would remark about how polite and approachable Agent Maubian was, and how they were delighted to work with him. He regarded this as his greatest asset: an ability to connect with virtually anyone, find common ground, and from there construct an agreement.

Gradually, Agent Maubian found his desk time shrinking, his field time growing, and the importance of his missions expanding. He went deeper and deeper into more and more hostile territory, culminating in orchestrating the escape of a British tourist from a prison in Pyongyang. His dealings with two rogue guards, which proved essential for the prison break, caught the attention of some very high-up people, who needed to fill a position.

It is worth noting here one more aspect of Steve Maubian, an aspect that may seem insignificant, but possessed the upmost importance for these certain higher-ups.

Steve Maubian had never owned any pets.

He did not hate dogs and cats and rodents, of course; he felt perfectly content around them, and enjoyed visiting with others' pets. However, with his life so focused and dedicated, he had never had the chance to really bond with an animal, and so had decided to not claim ownership of one. This factor led to him being approached one day in the cubicles.

"Agent Maubian?" an unfamiliar man asked. He appeared almost like Agent Smith, from _The Matrix._

"Yes," he replied, "mission time again?" Maubian began clearing his desk.

"Not exactly."

Maubian stopped his cleaning, and looked up, confused.

"We need privacy. Come with me." The man motioned with two fingers, and led the way to a small office. Both sat down at a small desk, with two chairs facing each other. "I am going to offer you a promotion to a highly secret position. Before I describe it, I have to know if you will accept it."

Maubian waited for a second, to see if the man would continue. "Really?" he asked, "Nothing? Can you at least tell me the salary, benefits? Danger?"

"The danger is minimal, nowadays," the man reassured Maubian, "but the position still remains essential to global stability. As for pay, you will receive at least double what you make now, with extended benefits."

Maubian turned the offer over and over. Not dangerous, but secret and essential and well-paying…usually, the one came with the others. He could not, for the life of him, figure out what it could be, and he had seen some pretty weird stuff in his time with the CIA.

"I know you don't have any family..." the man continued. _Yeah, way to remind me of my forever-alone status_, Maubian thought bitterly. "...and this position enables you to build close bonds and meet new faces. Plus, you would travel across the globe, at the expense of the government of course."

The deal was becoming sweeter now. "Alright, I think I can handle this," Maubian began to give a bit.

The man nodded. "Do you formally accept the position, then?" Maubian nodded, received a contract, and signed off. "Thank you." He enclosed the document in a briefcase, set it on the floor, then leaned forward towards Maubian.

"Now," the agent asked, "can you _please_ tell me what I just joined?"

"Your new title is Head of Interspecies Relations."

Maubian blinked at this mouthful. "Excuse me?"

"You are now the HIR," the man said the letters out, "for your short title." He pulled a new folder from his briefcase, a heavy one, and slammed it one the table. "And now, your first briefing."

Maubian stared in growing bewilderment as papers, maps, and photographs began to litter the table. Most of the items seemed to be concerned with dogs...

"The primary agency you will liaison with," the man began, "is the Pound Puppies…"

* * *

If a group of people had tried to tell Steve Maubian, when he was a kid, that dogs and cats could talk, he would have called them loony.

If they had tried to tell him that dogs and cats possessed modern and sometimes almost futuristic technology, he would have called them mad.

If they had tried to tell him that dogs and cats had organized secret societies that ran their business right underneath the nose of human civilization, he would have called the mental health institution.

And yet, here he was, sitting at a round table, wide and low, underneath a dog pound. His was the only chair at the table; the seven other seats were simple cushions.

Maubian tried to dust off the knees of his formal slacks; crawling through tunnels was not the best way to keep a suit clean. Most of the dirt swept off, but a few stains still remained. He licked his thumb and tried to rub them out. Better, but still not…

"Agent Maubian?"

He stopped and clasped his hand on his knee, trying to appear formal and business-like. "Yes, I'm here, I'm ready."

"Splendid, we can get started, then."

The one speaking had been a bright pink poodle. Maubian had been doing this job for a few years now, and while he had gotten used to animals talking – the first time he had heard it, he had nearly passed out from shock – it still put him off in just the slightest manner.

"Good evening, General Dolly," Maubian remarked as he began organizing his papers.

"Aw sugar, just call me Dolly, remember?"

Another thing that made him uncomfortable: addressing all of the animals by only first names, and sometime the title of Agent. He had gotten so used to referring to people by Mr. and Mrs. and Ms. that transitioning to a culture that barely used these titles was also jarring.

"Right, sorry," Maubian hid any sign of embarrassment.

Now Dolly and six other dogs began filing into the room: the D7, the very top agents of the Pound Puppies. The seven members represented the United States, Britain, China, France, Canada, Russia, and Kenya, and now sat down at the table.

"Anyways, let's begin the summit, shall we?"

"That's what I love about this guy," Dolly made an aside to the other dogs present, "he gets right to business!"

"Yes, that's right." Maubian pulled out a sheet, glanced at it to confirm it was the appropriate file, and slid it into the center of the table. "Abdel Mustafa," he pointed to the picture on the paper to emphasize his point, "our newest foreign policy headache. According to what we've picked up, he's seized Oman in a coup d'état, and threatens to destabilize the entire region. The United States and Great Britain have kept up friendly relations with Oman for years, but Mustafa claims he wants to have closer ties with other countries in the region, especially Iran." He exhaled and leaned back, "The media is already going crazy over it, half of the CIA is focusing on this single issue…and now you guys say," he motioned with his hand, "that something else is at play here?"

"Yes," Dolly spoke with concern, "I am assuming you're familiar with the Black Paw?"

"Yeah," Maubian suddenly sat up, "but I thought they disbanded years ago?"

"We thought so too," Dolly scanned around with awkward glances, "but apparently they're still around."

"This is unacceptable!" Agent Francois, the representative from France, suddenly barked (almost literally) at the representative from Kenya, "This happened in your sphere of influence, how did you not see this!?"

"Oman is over a thousand miles from Kenya!" came the annoyed response, "Excuse me for not keeping my eyes on a country across an entire body of water! If anyone, be mad at Bingo. There's a British colony right next door, _he_ should have dealt with it!"

"India is not a colony," Agent Bingo corrected with great frustration, "it is a member of the Commonwealth, and therefore not part of my jurisdiction."

Dolly was shocked by the outbursts, "Fellas, fellas! Please, control yourselves."

Agent Ping from China saw an opportunity to boast, "This would never have happened in China, not under my watchful gaze!"

"To be honest," the representative from Russia, a Borzoi wearing a large fur hat, spoke up while the others argued, "the issue here seems small. As long as we can contain them, I see no problem with Oman siding with Iran..."

"Oh yes you do!" Maubian interrupted, his tone cutting through the others' conversations, "Stability in the area is hanging by a thread as it is. If this escalates, war could be imminent, a war none of us wants to happen. And if we," he again motioned with his hands, "can do something to stop that, then we have to work together and do it!"

Every agent in the room fell silent at these words; everyone knew they were true. Maubian held his hand to his chin as he thought. Finally, he asked:

"How do you know it's the Black Paw?"

"Ah yes," Dolly was pleased to have order restored, and turned now to a tunnel to the side. "Maggie? Come in now, sugar."

Everyone watched the tunnel as a quiet golden retriever edged out from the shadows. Her fur was trimmed neatly, and she moved with deliberation, as if she planned every step before she took it. She exuded both caution and determination.

"Maggie was recruited in Oman to work on founding an operation there. When the coup struck, she and the other agents were trapped. Sadly, she's the only one who escaped – snuck aboard a refugee ship, the poor thing. But before she reached the ship, Maggie accidentally stumbled upon a meeting of the Black Paw while seeking refuge in a house. Tell Maubian what you saw and what you heard."

"Well," the retriever closed her eyes as she tried to remember, "I saw their flag, a white banner with a black paw print on it. That's when I knew…" she nodded. "I only caught a few glimpses of them, I tried to remain hidden. But I heard plenty. They were talking, talking about what was happening. They mentioned their leader, but only by a codename: the New Alpha, that's who is leading them."

Maubian offered a question, "Any idea on what the…the New Alpha looks like?"

"No," Maggie replied, "but I did swipe a few papers from their meeting, so we know some of their next moves."

"Right here," Dolly produced the papers, and laid them on the table. Maubian reached and retrieved the crumpled up sheets. There was no writing, only sketches of diagrams. But they were clear enough to be read…for the most part.

"I think," Maubian indicated with his finger, "this is Big Ben?" The drawing was sure enough a crude clock tower.

"What about Big Ben?" Agent Bingo demanded, shifting in his seat to get a better look.

"This must be Cristo Redentor…the Forbidden Palace…a skyscraper, looks like the Sears Tower…oh my God," Maubian realized, "it's a list of targets."

"For what?" Agent Ping demanded.

Maggie offered, "I think they're trying to attack icons across the world, and frame the attacks on humans."

"Get enough people angry," Maubian rationalized, "and you'll have a war…but that would only endanger the foothold they have. They couldn't want that…"

Maggie again had an answer: "I heard one of the dogs laughing about it, saying 'We'll get the humans to do the dirty work for us.'"

"My word!" Dolly exclaimed, "They must want to start a war-"

"-So humans will kill each other off," Maubian finished, his realization growing clear. "We have to unseat Mustafa and the New Alpha at once!"

"In due time," Dolly calmed the human agent down. "Right now, we need to make sure we don't fall into this trap ourselves. Maggie here also told me that the Black Paw is targeting Shelter 17 to place spies. As our most successful operation, we cannot allow it to fall. While I have faith in the agents there," she paused, trying to find the best wording, "it never hurts to have extra security. Maubian, could you kindly keep an eye on them over there, and report back to us regularly?"

Maubian sighed. Now he had to find a new alibi for the relocation, and then split his time between the two pounds, not to mention his deskwork, which never totally disappeared. Still though, he didn't have a choice. "I'll report there tomorrow morning, nine o'clock."

"Excellent!" the poodle was delighted. "Oh, and Maggie?"

"Yes?" the retriever looked up.

"Since you've had more experience with the Black Paw, and may spot one better, I'm having you transferred to Shelter 17 as a permanent agent, until further notice."

"If you'd like." Maggie nodded, "I will do my best!"


	4. The Enemy Acts

Three dogs huddled around the screen, which showed only static. A fourth adjusted an antenna, which hung outside of the ruined apartment. Outside, the sky was singed red and black. Around the apartment block, the bombed remains of Oman stood in silence. Civil war was always a messy business.

"Come on, it'll be on soon!" one of the dogs barked.

"I tryih!" the dog outside snarled back. His speech came out muffled due to the piece of metal in his mouth.

"Wait, wait, stop! Hold it there!" All of the dots began to compose themselves into a picture, and the roar of the static died down. "Can you let it go?" The picture became a tad fuzzier, but was still visible. "We're good! Get over here." The screen showed the black pawprint upon a white sheet, and the outline of a dog, just barely discernable.

"Members of the Black Paw," a voice crackled over the set, "our hold over Oman is cemented. This was our first and most challenging step to our new world. Now, it is behind us, and we should be proud of our accomplishment."

The four dogs howled at the top of their lungs, as did hundreds – no, thousands of others across Oman. The sound, the cry of victory, echoed across the desert land. It struck fear into the hearts of humans who huddled in their half-ruined homes and in the streets.

"I have already begun carrying out the second step of our plan, and Shelter 17 shall soon be infiltrated. In the meantime, we must not let the humans forget about what we are doing here."

The voice stopped, and the silhouette turned as if afraid of being interrupted. After a moment, it turned back.

"Tomorrow, we shall send them a clear message of defiance, and then the humans shall turn and leap at each other's throats like the savages they are. When they do, we will be there to rise up and place them in their rightful places. Be ready, our time is at hand! Dogkind over all!"

"Dogkind over all!" came the excited salute.

* * *

Storm clouds gathered over the city, their heavy black figures driving everyone inside in anticipation of the coming rains. And sure enough, as if pierced by a knife, the clouds poured water upon the city. The sunlight almost disappeared, leaving a dark gloom which seemed to weigh down upon every building.

In the alleyway beside Shelter 17, a bedraggled chocolate Labrador turned around the corner. His fur dripped with water, which he tried to shake off. No sooner had he done so than the rains re-drenched him. Grumbling to himself, the dog tried to stay under the lip of the roof that the nearby building offered. This provided approximately a foot-wide walkway that gave some kind of relief from the raindrops.

He looked over across the street. Yep, that looked like the dog pound, he had found the right place – hopefully. The only question now was how to get in. As he pondered his options, a stroke of fortune answered the question for him: one of the bushes flipped onto its side, revealing a trapdoor underneath that a large sheepdog hopped out of. He was carrying a large trash bag, which he dragged to the dumpster.

"Excuse me?" the Labrador called.

"Whassa- who's out there!?" the sheepdog glanced around with a frantic look. "Show yourself, you sneaky spooky spook!"

"Erm, over here?" the Labrador spoke again, and the sheepdog spotted him.

"Sorry, I'm not supposed to talk to anyone."

"Well, can I just stay in the shelter for a night or so?"

"Why do you want to come in? Wait! Don't even answer that, no one is allowed inside. There might be bad guys around...and YOU might be a bad guy!"

"I'm looking to get out of the rain," the Labrador answered with annoyance. "And what kind of bad guy? I've been wandering the streets for days, got kicked out. I just want to find a new home-"

"Oh! We can help you with that!" the sheepdog seemed to have forgotten his serious conviction, "You've convinced me, follow meeee!" He leapt into the trapdoor, disappearing below.

_Well, that was easier than I thought, _mused the Labrador to himself. Before he could enter through the trapdoor, though, the sheepdog poked his head out.

"Say, what's your name anyways?"

"Rufus."

"Well nice to meet you Rufus. I'm Niblet!" and the sheepdog disappeared through the hole again.

_I'm in_, Rufus thought to himself, and he followed his host through the entrance to Shelter 17.

* * *

The large black SUV made a wide left turn onto Al Ahram. The driver of the vehicle shivered, and a bead of sweat crept down his left temple. Behind him were four dogs and lots of duffel bags. He did not look at them, instead concentrating on the road ahead of him, casting a brief glance to the left at the Great Sphinx, illuminated against the night sky by powerful lights.

"Keep going," came a gruff voice from the rear. The man nodded with fright, and turned his eyes back to the street. Ahead to the left loomed the Pyramid of Khafre, again lit up in its glory, and to the right was the Great Pyramid of Giza. Al Ahram veered towards Great Pyramid, guiding the vehicle along the same course. The massive stone structure loomed into the sky. "Stop," the voice commanded. They were now at the base of the pyramid. "Let us out."

The driver hurried out of his seat, and opened the side doors to allow the four dogs out. One of them walked off a little ways, then paused. He raised his snout into the air and closed his eyes. The dog waited there, waiting to feel the air ruffle his fur…

"The wind's coming from the west still," he suddenly moved again. "We're good to go."

"Human!" another dog barked. The driver flinched and nodded. "Get the blue bags out of the back, leave the yellow ones."

The person nodded again, "Yessir," and opened the back of the SUV. He began tossing blue bags from the trunk.

"Careful with those!"

"Sorry." The human began handling them more gently, setting them on the ground behind him. One by one, the dogs set them up in a line by the pyramid, to the southeast. The line stretched from north to south, with about ten bags in all. Once these were in position, the dogs worked at the zippers until each was opened. Each bag contained a large gas canister.

"Human! Open them!"

Each nozzle was turned, and clouds of white gas escaped out, hissing angrily. The driver tried to cover his nose and mouth with his one arm while releasing the gases, and kept his head turned.

"Now, the yellow bags are already wired. All you have to do is push the button. And remember," the dog speaking approached the man with a snarl on his face, "if they don't find your body, they'll find your kid's!"

The four dogs sat and watched as the man clambered back into the van. Behind them, a deadly cloud of gas drifted towards the city of Giza, with people's homes only a few hundred feet away.

The man drew in a shuddering breath, sweat still streaming down his forehead. He bit his lip, and a tear escaped his eye.

He had no choice.

The engine sputtered to life, and he approached the base of the pyramid. Closer….closer…

Right before he hit the button, the man glanced up one more time. He was the last human to see the Great Pyramid whole. In return, the Great Pyramid was the last thing he saw before the van exploded.

The massive blast sent stones flying, and a large crater blew itself into the side of the monument. The explosion awoke the citizens of Gaza, who came out to stare at the flames leaping from the far side of the pyramid. As they stared, they found their eyes watering….their throats burning…nausea welling up inside them…and escape impossible from the gas which already surrounded them.

The next morning, upon inspection of the wreckage, Egyptian authorities found the charred skeleton of a man, and by it two medals.

Both medals were emblazoned with the national symbol of Oman.


	5. After Giza

"Where did you come from?"

"My home was 99 West Elbe Street."

"What if I were to check our records?"

"You wouldn't find me, I was never in the system. I grew up on the street until my person found me, and now they kicked me out."

"Uh-huh, a likely story."

Niblet had introduced Rufus to the team, which had prompted a collective outcry of frustration towards the former. The newly-arrived Labrador had, in turn, been whisked away into an out-of-the-way room, and now faced interrogation from the resident boxer, Cookie. She was giving him a good grilling over, but he seemed as sure as stone.

"I'm just looking to stay a few nights to get back on my feet, and maybe you can help me find my perfect person." Rufus looked around the darkened room. "Is this how you treat all of your new marks?"

"will ask the questions here!" Cookie snapped, and she paced in front of him, coming in and out of the light. "So, you have no way to prove your alibi?"

"Alibi? I didn't realize I was accused of anything…" suddenly, his face broke with realization, "You're worried I'm one of the 'bad guys' your friend Niblet was talking about."

"That's darn right. Tell me, Rufus, does the Black Paw mean anything to you?"

"Uhmmm…" his eyes darted around, "…not especially, no. Should it?"

"_I_ am asking the questions!" Cookie felt the need to remind him again. "But if you must know, the Black Paw is a group of the most deplorable dogs imaginable, nothing but mangy, flea-bitten animals who have nothing better to do all day than trash humans and chase their own tails."

She purposefully loaded her explanation with as many insults as possible, and scanned Rufus' face for any reaction. All he gave was a solemn, "That sounds terrible."

"You're right it's terrible! And so help me, if you're one of them, you and I are going to have a _serious problem._ Understand?"

"I understand," the Labrador answered. "Don't worry, I'm not a member of…that."

"You better not be…" Cookie was satisfied. Well, at least partially. She vowed to keep an eye on this one, and make sure he did not cause any trouble.

As they left the dark room, Rufus had to stop and allow his eyes to adjust to the sudden light. When they cleared again, he found himself in the central hub of tunnels under the shelter. Several puppies were rolling around, playing in the dirt. Meanwhile, the adults passed back and forth, going about their business.

"Strudel!" Cookie called. The dachshund came running up to them. "Strudel, please take Rufus here to FKD and find his person." Then she leaned down to be quieter, "The sooner he's out of here, the sooner I can sleep."

"I can hear you," Rufus retorted. Cookie gave him a glare, then walked away. "Anyways, lead on, er, Streusel?"

"That's 'Strudel'," she replied back. "And don't worry, with my marvelous invention, I can find the one person that best matches your personality! All you have to do is answer some questions."

"Okay," Rufus sounded cynical, "but I'm not sure if I'm ready for a new person yet. I mean, my old one was just so…" he gave a shiver. "If I could just stay for a few days…"

"But your new person will not be like your old one! Besides, even if you do stay, that's no reason to not take a visit to the FKD right now!" Strudel was secretly also skeptical of Rufus' story, but decided her best option was to play along and just get him through the system as quickly as possible.

"I don't know…"

_"F__ür die Liebe zu Hund!" _Strudel burst out, "I have an easier time with puppies than with you!"

"Hey guys!" Lucky suddenly interrupted before Rufus could retort. "Pups, there's extra food up top, and some squeaky toys. The shelter's charity drive brought in a good load this year!"

"Yay!" the young ones cried, and they bounded through the tunnels to get to the surface.

"Yay, food! Food!" Niblet came bounding after them. Lucky blocked his path, giving him a stern look, then resuming his smile for the pups running by. After the last one had disappeared, he spoke with a grim tone.

"Can everyone follow me, please?"

The dogs looked at one another with confusion, then went with Lucky into the other room, which held the Dog-Com 250. Now, however, it was turned to a television station, which was overlaid both in sound and video with faint static.

"Guys," Lucky spoke very solemnly, "The Black Paw is moving fast. I haven't heard anything from HQ yet, but I sent my own message, saying we need to take action."

"Why? What's going on? What happened?" several voices asked. Lucky didn't reply with words, instead only turning up the volume on the television.

_"…us just now, terror has struck in Egypt tonight, with a combined bombing and gas attack at the Great Pyramids of Giza that is being blamed on Omani militants. Premier Abdel Mustafa confirmed his government's role in the attacks, claiming they were 'a message to the West to stay out of East Asian affairs'. 43 civilians have been confirmed…" _

"Why would they do this?" Squirt thought aloud. He had thought he had seen everything, dealing with colorful characters on the street. Never, though, had he thought a dog could do something like this…

"Shh!" Maggie, who had been sitting in the very back of the crowd, hushed him, "Listen!"

_"sacrifice himself with a bomb that blew a crater in the Great Pyramid. The United States and NATO were quick to denounce these actions, while Iran reiterated its commitment to protect Oman. The Kremlin has thus far declined to comment on these proceedings, but experts speculate that Russia will lean towards Iran, its historical ally. We are now taking you to on-the-ground footage of the aftermath of this horrible attack."_

Lucky quickly made to switch the screen off, but not before rows of stretchers were seen. Bodies could not be seen, but the sheets covered what looked almost certainly like the shape of humans. Where the heads should have been were bloodstains. In front of them were wailing relatives and friends, kneeling on the ground, their faces writhing with the pain of loss. All of this singed into the dogs' eyes within only a fraction of a second. Then the screen went black.

There was silence.

"How do we even know it was the Black Paw?" Cookie tried to offer. "Maybe it was just…"

"Mustafa is the New Alpha's puppet," Maggie explained. "He doesn't do anything unless the New Alpha commands him to. This is just what they're planning, and it'll lead to war…"

"I still don't understand, though," Squirt came up to the retriever, "Why would they WANT to risk the land they have with a war?"

"Didn't you hear them talking?" Maggie paced back and forth, "If Oman starts a fight, then they'll have allies to back them up. Right now things aren't too bad. One attack by a little country doesn't start wars. But the Black Paw won't stop here. They'll kill spies, sabotage equipment, and then frame it on the US, or Britain, or Russia." She turned and stared at the TV. "They just want more fuel for the fire."

Rufus listened to all of this, and bowed his head in contemplation. He did not speak a word the whole time.

* * *

"What the hell is going on, Maubian?!"

Maubian's superior, Major Kline, hunched over the desk in front of him. Kline's face was set with anger, and a determination to have answers.

"Sir, the dogs' internal power struggle is heating up right now," Maubian responded with patience. "It's spilling over to our civilization, that's all."

"That's all?" Kline could not believe what he was hearing. "Yes, 43 people dead. 'That's all.'"

"The Pound Puppies dealing with it as we speak. We have to wait until they tell us how to act, if at all."

"Maubian, you honestly expect me to sit back and wait for a bunch of dogs to give me an order?"

"It's the best chance we have right now," Maubian tried to explain. "We can't go rushing into Oman with things the way they are right now, it'll only cause more problems than it would solve."

"But the Pound Puppies can do this?" Kline leaned forward, and tapped his finger on the table. "You're telling me that we, the CIA, the most highly-developed intelligence-gathering agency in the history of mankind, cannot solve this problem, but a team of dogs can?"

Realizing how silly he was about to sound, Maubian managed a solid, yet slow, "Yes."

Kline gave an incredulous grunt, and leaned back.

"You don't understand, sir. They have very well-developed technology, and a very solid bureaucracy in place. Hierarchical structure, merit system, you'd be surprised how well-organized they are."

"I understand they're organized enough to be a threat to my country. And so far, they haven't made me understand that they're willing to do anything to help my country."

"I'm meeting with General Dolly tomorrow."

"The poodle?" Kline closed his eyes and shook his head. He would have never believed that he would one day have to ask an agent of the Central Intelligence Agency to clarify the breed of the dog he was going to meet with to discuss military maneuvers.

"Yes. We're going to discuss the situation at hand, and I will make sure we come up with a plan of action for us to pursue."

"Very well. And you better come back with something for us to do to deal with this."

"I will," Maubian promised.

"Just remember, if you and the Pound Puppies don't do something about this," Kline laced his words with austerity, "I will."


End file.
